


Undertow

by BrokenHallelujah



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:28:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHallelujah/pseuds/BrokenHallelujah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Get in, bestow judgment, get out, go home. Those were the rules of their dangerous game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undertow

Get in, bestow judgment, get out, go home. 

Those were the rules of their dangerous game. But as they fled from the building something pulled at something deep and suppressed within Murphy. Led him, Connor in tow, back the way they came after stashing their gear in the car. Past a thick metal door, and into the crowd, thoughts and voices swallowed by the loud music. Into the push pull of bodies as they pulsed to the music in a warehouse by the docks. They weren’t supposed to be there. But then, no one was. That’s what made things so exciting. 

Halfway through the night the bands lost their names and just became the carnal sounds that fueled the fires in the audience below. Here, the brothers MacManus could forget for this one stolen moment what they do, and more importantly, who they are. They were no longer the Saints. No Connor, no Murphy. Just two more bodies fighting for the sheer feeling of being alive. 

In the pits where fists flew, where complete strangers became enemies and then friends with the same flurry of movement, Murphy lost his shirt. It didn’t matter, they had more and shirts just seemed an easy catch for fingers. Connor realized this as his twin grasped that gore-spattered fabric, jerking the blond forward to wrestle for a moment before shoving him back against the wall of flesh and cloth that pushed back just as eagerly.

Connor almost didn’t know what to do with all the adrenaline, but it seemed Murphy might have a clue. Those blue eyes were damn near glowing. Somewhere in that sea of thrashing bodies Murphy had found euphoria. He swayed amongst the flow as he worked his way out of the crowd to the less populated back. Connor ignored the voice of reason and followed. 

That damned shirt. Slender fingers clutched it again. It wouldn’t last long. Not with the way Murphy was pulling at it, ripping it away from Connor’s form and forcing the blond close for the body so like his own to press and rock against him. This wasn’t dancing. He knew better. It was primal. Violent. A prelude to what was to come; the coming together in a clash of lips and teeth and flesh. It was personal and impersonal. Mine and mine and fuck who sees.

The wall was cold, ridges uncomfortable against bared flesh as Connor found himself dragged behind a stack of crates and shoved violently against the sheet metal wall with Murphy pressed against him. Murphy, who was all heat and hardness, arousal dripping from his body under the guise of sweat and eyes the darkened shade of a turbulent ocean. He mumbled something against Connor’s lips, the words lost in the noise, before working that strip of leather open and undoing the fastenings to Connor’s jeans.

For all the times he’s been captivated by Murphy’s lips, he could not recall a moment they’d looked more sinful, more beautiful, than when they were wrapped around his cock.

Connor wondered briefly if this made him an exhibitionist, but he really couldn’t be bothered to care over whether or not someone could stumble upon them. Not when Murphy was tonguing that sensitive spot on the underside before swallowing him down again. He closed his eyes, skull colliding with metal as fingers twisted in chocolate tresses and pulled sharply. The resulting moan sent vibrations through him, and he forgot to breathe. 

His thoughts were broken. Too fast. He was so close and it was too fast, but not fast enough. Not enough, and oh God, he needed more. Shoving violently at those shoulders, he ignored the confused expression furrowing his brother’s brow, wrenching him up and reversing their positions easily. If Murphy had thought to complain, he wouldn’t be given a moment to do so as Connor sealed their mouths together once more. He fumbled in his rush to undo the belt and push the annoying denim away from that pale skin, and wrenched his mouth away with a loud growl. “Stupid fuckin’ pants…OFF.” 

Murphy chuckled, the sound swallowed in the swell as he tried to regulate his breathing while helping his frustrated twin with the clothing. Boots were toed off and nudged to the side in a rush, jeans stepped out of and kicked away carelessly, moments before Connor hooked his hands behind Murphy’s thighs and, hefting him up, wrapped those long limbs around his waist. He hadn’t bothered with his own, did not want to waste the time or effort, they were pushed down far enough from Murphy’s previous attentions already. Pinning his brother to the wall with his body, he raised a hand to Murphy’s lips, groaning in remembrance of how that mouth that was busy slicking his fingers had felt around his cock. Focus, he had to focus.

One last swipe of that tongue and he withdrew his fingers, dropping down and curling to press two in. He was rushing, knew Murphy wouldn’t mind. The little bastard thrived on the sting of pain, and usually he wouldn’t cave to this particular fetish but tonight had been rough from the start. He grinned at the small noise in disappointment that slipped from his twin as he removed his fingers and pressed a kiss to the patch of flesh beneath Murphy’s right ear. Pressed close to be heard. “Attendez…” 

An answering growl as arms circled his neck: “Vite!” 

He’d not have to wait long. Turning his head, Connor spat in his hand, stroking himself to afford some form of lubrication, and then pressed past the ring of muscle. He let the music set the rhythm. Hard, fast, pulsing beat driving him, driving deep and complete. There was love, there was sex, and then there was fucking. This was fucking. Pure and carnal pleasure. Bruising grips and teeth sinking into sensitive flesh, noises stifled against necks and shoulders before being swallowed up by the music.

Murphy’s legs are clenching at his waist, one hand gripping at window ledge above his head to help support his weight, and they’re both so close already. Murphy needs a bit more though, and wraps that tattooed hand around his cock, stroking in time with the thrusts that knock him against that wall time and again. They came, one right after the other, with Murphy shouting and spilling across their stomachs and Connor drawing blood as his teeth pierced Murphy’s shoulder. Their chests were heaving as he pressed their foreheads together. “Fuck…”

“Aye, y’ jus’ realize that?” Fuckin’ smartass bastard.

“Shut th’ fuck up an’ get dressed. Checkout’s at nine.”


End file.
